


Shining Supernova

by KendylGirl



Series: The Alchemy of Butterflies [4]
Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017) RPF
Genre: Interviews, Light Angst, M/M, POV Timothée Chalamet, Protectiveness, True Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-18
Updated: 2018-12-18
Packaged: 2019-09-21 15:35:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,223
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17046269
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KendylGirl/pseuds/KendylGirl
Summary: He is renown for his upbeat and affable nature, so what can make Timothée Chalamet explode with anger?  One rude reporter finds out.





	Shining Supernova

**Author's Note:**

> First, I must give credit to morganwolfe (Wolfmoonlady51) for the title; her stellar comment (no pun intended) on “Salvation” produced the phrase “shiny supernova” and it fit perfectly with our Timmy’s comportment in this installment.
> 
> Also, I must give a tip of my hat to LivefromG25, whose amazing insights have not failed to spark my creative energies. Thank you for being _you_!
> 
> And there is no better confidant for a wayward writer like me than Willowbrooke, for she patiently turns chaos into coherence. Thank you, always, for your sharp and savvy eye!

I’m keyed up.Don’t know why.

Feel jumpy.

Distracted. 

Woke up early, my brain spinning a thousand webs, and I let them tangle inside me while I stare at the ceiling, my fingers tracing the soft rounds of his shoulder bones while he breathes deep gusts of hot air on my neck.It makes the rest of me chill in comparison, and it’s like he knows, even sound asleep, because he tucks my limbs tighter under him.Always my shield, always my sword.

I brush my cheek over his forehead and kiss his hair, and I feel his head move, an unconscious drag of his lips under my jaw.His top lip sticks against my skin, so when he moves his tongue against his drying teeth, it swabs my neck in heavy pulls.

_God, I love him_.

It’s enough to ease some of my tension, to refocus my mind on this, on him.I close my eyes again and let myself drift.

When we were first together and shared a bed, he was always so careful, so contained.It’s as if he drew a mental line down the center of the mattress and adhered to it strictly, an international border that should never be crossed.At first, I was hurt.No, not at first—it hurt, period.I mean, I get it; I know I must be a pain to sleep with.I’m always waking up in bizarre positions on all parts of the bed.One time, my sister and I slept in a pillow fort in the living room, and I woke to her dragging me by my ankles to the other side of the room because she was sick of me head-butting her or sticking my toes in her nostrils as I flopped around.Guess I couldn’t really blame her, but it’s not like I can control it.I figured Armie couldn’t help but be irritated by the same thing; it made sense if he was trying to reign me in before he became my next victim. 

Part of me didn’t get it, though.He is so loving and affectionate normally, and when we are intimate, he folds me into his body, like his skin is mine, like he wants to share it with me and keep me protected under its layers.But even then, it would never be long before he would pull away to the edge and leave me exposed, cold.

Until one night, when we were still sticky and sweaty, when I was still drunk and hazy on endorphins and the smell of his hair, and my hands could not stop clenching and pulling at him, that addiction I have to filling up parts of me with parts of him.Once his limbs began to grow heavy with exhaustion, he started to slip from my grasp, and I dug my nails into him.“Stop.”

“What?What’s wrong?”

“Where are you going?”

“I just…I could tell I was going to fall asleep on you.”

“So?”

“What do you mean?”

“Why don’t you want to touch me?”The words spray out louder than I’d intended now that the hurt was in charge

He sucked in a sharp breath.“ _Tim_.”His voice sounded hollow, and I turned my head toward him.He looked like I’d slapped him across the face.“How…how could you _say_ that?”

I leaned up on my elbows.“Because you do this all the time!”I knew I sounded shrill, but I was too desperate at this point to reel it in.“I mean, I know I’m bony and I’m…I’m fidgety as hell, but…seriously, I thought that you…that you _liked…_ me.And that…well, that none of that would matter to you.Fuck, I don’t know…”I sounded like an idiot.I flopped back down and stared at the ceiling. 

His breath was coming in short, noisy bursts, like he was sucking air through a straw.“What the hell are you…liked you? _Liked_ _you_?Are you out of your goddamn mind?I’m just trying to be _fair_ to you!”

I bolted upright, my hands flying up and tugging at my own hair.“What the fuck does _that_ mean?”

He flung his arms out to the side and let them drop with a thunk to the mattress.“Well, in case you haven’t noticed, I’m fucking _huge_!”

“And?”

“And I’m _heavy_.And hot.And I snore and make weird noises, and that’s…you know, that’s _annoying_ to people when they’re trying to sleep.Everyone _hates_ that, I _know_ they do!”

Ice started to form at the back of my throat.“Who the fuck told you that?”

His eyes changed from outrage to despair in the space of a single blink before he closed them completely and dropped his head.He doesn’t answer.He doesn’t need to.

“Jesus, Armie…”

Acting prepares a person to compartmentalize, to work in a special trigger to access whatever emotions are called for, to deal them like cards for the camera, to convey instantly whatever is required for a scene.You learn to manage them, like records in a jukebox that somehow can play several tunes all at once if the scene requires it, each ringing with its singular clarity while sounding as one.

But I don’t recall a single lesson in my training that would prepare me adequately to be overwhelmed by the conflicting impulses of my heart at that moment, driving me to use my hands to hide my own stupid face _and_ to use them to reach out softly for his at the very same time.It can’t be done.I’d have to choose.

As if there were a choice to make.

My thumb runs across the ridge of his cheekbone and brushes the silken strands by his ear.My fingers push up gently on the underside of his chin until it raises slightly.

“All this time, I…I thought that _you_ thought I was a pain in the ass, or that…that you wanted nothing to do with me if we weren’t…you know, if we were not having sex.”

That pops his eyes open, filled with a new kind of liquid anguish.“Holy _shit_ , Tim,” he whispers, raising a hand to cover mine where it rests around his jaw.“How could you…Why would you _ever_ —“

“Why would _you_?”

He stared at me for three long beats, then surged up and knocked me back flat on the mattress, arms and legs wrapped around me like an octopus.His mouth scraped past my ear, and I heard him chanting, “Mine mine mine mine mine,” over and over, on the swish of each breath, every syllable filling my heart and breaking it, as if he had to remind himself of it, as if he had to convince himself that it was true.

I turned my chin and nudged his earlobe with my nose.“Please don’t ever leave me again.”

He didn’t answer, just clutched me tighter, with wisps of a shudder in every breath across my neck, like he was rocking us both to sleep.

 

* * *

 

I have a bad feeling as soon as I walk in.

The chairs are arranged around a small table, two on one side and one on the other.When they show him to the solo chair, I nearly walk out, my hand already on my phone to call Brian.But he just blinks several times and sinks into it, catching my eyes and giving a bemused ghost of a smile.I am not going to leave him alone there.If he is staying, so am I.

The reporter is a man I’d never met—Kevin something.I’d expected Horowitz when I had accepted the invitation for us a month ago, but when we arrive, we are told Josh is “on assignment.”Whatever that means.His replacement looks around forty but trying desperately not to, like he’d raided his little brother’s closet before he came to work.But the Chelsea boots and the J.Crew cashmere cannot hide the grey in the buzzed hair around his temples and upper lip.

He is too loud when he greets us, hand too sweaty as he shakes mine, eyes not quite rising to Armie’s face when he shakes his.He moves jerkily, and he clears his throat every five seconds while we are being mic’d up, shuffling a stack of notes as if they were tarot cards.

As we wait, I chew on the inside of my cheek and wonder vaguely how much he plans to edit from our footage, gerrymandering our responses to fit his own stilted narrative.Before I can funnel my nagging dread into an actual question, the twin cameras are in position and ready to record. 

He starts mildly, introducing himself and us to his viewers.He turns to Armie first.“You have been in this business for a long time and worked with many interesting people.Among actors you’ve worked with, who has impressed you?”

He runs his hands up and down his strong thighs, brushing the soft fabric of his pants.“Uh, I mean, DiCaprio…Amy Adams…Boots, for sure…But I would be totally remiss if I didn’t also include Timothée Chalamet.He really is a raw bundle of talent, and it’s incredible just watching him do his thing.”

Kevin smirks and looks toward me with an unpleasant gleam in his eye, like he’s just been waiting for that door to open.My left leg is bouncing uncontrollably, so I cross my other ankle over top of it to tamp down the motion and try to laugh.

“So, Tim…is Armie a good kisser?I’m sure all the girls would like to know.”

_Yeah?Well, fuck them.And fuck you, too._

I smile.It feels like a snarl.“No comment.” _Come on, lighten it up_.“That’s a hard question to ask somebody, you know?”

Kevin grins wolfishly.“Yeah, well you oughtta know, man, am I right?”He bumps me with his forearm, leers forward as if he’s just invented comedy and we should worship at his feet.

My smile turns brittle and crumbles from my face.I shift my shoulders to brush off his touch and sit back in the chair.My eyes flick over to Armie, who is watching my face from behind a controlled mask of affability, that familiar shield of self-preservation that I can see right through, so I make sure he can see through mine, too.“He is good at everything.I couldn’t ask for a better partner onscreen.Or off.”I shift my focus back to Kevin’s red skin beneath the silver jags of his goatee.“But that’s not something I intend to discuss with you.”

He snorts.“How come?Not proud enough to brag?”

My lips tighten.“Not crass enough.”

He brushes that off with a shrug and switches gears, asking about my new film.“Do you feel at all like an activist?”

This settles me a bit.It’s familiar ground to tread.“Well, I think it is a great thing to take on a challenging role that can have some impact beyond the theatre, for sure.And addiction is a societal problem for us, not one for a certain group of people, for a certain demographic.Addiction has no face, and that level of awareness is something that our film makes clear; it is a serious problem that deserves an honest portrayal, so it is something that I don’t want to seem cavalier about in any way.The struggles of people who have dealt with this are real and painful and _universal_ —I think that’s what we have to recognize.”

Kevin glances over at Armie.“And you—recently in the role of a ‘straight white male.’What was _that_ like?” 

There’s an edge to the question I don’t like, but Armie merely nods, a congenial smile on his lips, fingers laced together over his stomach.He looks relaxed enough, so I try to take my cue from him, try to breathe deeply while I listen and draw on the rich tones of his voice to keep me centered, try to emulate his posture, his openness.“I’ve always wanted to try theatre, something that would challenge my skills in an entirely new way.Timmy here is like a fish in water on Broadway, but I had always been so entrenched in films, so I was ready to dive into something new.”He gives me a wink, and I smile for the first time since we’d arrived.

Kevin chuckles.“Yeah, I’ll bet.Really had some stinkers there, didn’t you?”

The color siphons from Armie’s face to mine, and he gives a wan flick of his lips.“Yes, it’s true that I’ve had my share of projects make some unpleasant turns in the road, unfortunately.I try not to take it personally but it’s hard when you invest a lot of yourself in a project, and it still fails.I’ve termed it The Armie Hammer Effect.”His voice is smooth and droll, but I see the slight tremor in his fingers as he reaches forward for a bottle of water and takes a long drink.

“I guess when you look the part, people keep hiring you, no matter how many millions you’ve lost the studios.”Kevin flips through his cards.“You were even going to play Batman at one point?That got dropped fairly quickly, though, didn’t it?So much for _that_ roadmap, huh?”At that, he glances at me and winks, like now we’re buddies.Us against him.

I feel like someone’s punched me in the chest, leaving me pinned and wriggling.I could black out if I go any longer without oxygen. 

Somewhere distant, I hear Armie sigh like the hiss of a deflating tire.“That was for the best, in the end.Who wants to see a nineteen-year-old Batman, anyway?Plus, I figure that if Chris Nolan had gone through with it, then his real prize, _The Dark Knight,_ might not have come to be.”He looks at me, eyes full and dark.“And there was a twelve-year-old kid out there who really needed to see that film and glimpse his destiny and change the course of history for all of us.”

I just stare at him, my heart thudding against the wall of my chest.I wipe at my mouth with the back of my hand, unaware that it had been hanging open. I watch the light disappear, watch him slip away from me, folding into himself, the way he does when he has to combat the world.The way he does when he has to fight alone and is close to surrendering.

“Is that why, a year later, you’re still clinging so hard to _Call Me By Your Name_?Because that’s one you didn’t screw up?”

I hear my own voice before I am aware that I’m speaking.“Wait, that’s not fair.The experience of that film was life-changing for both of us, for _all_ of us.That’s not something you can just cast aside.I think _everyone_ has clung to it in some way—all of the fans, who continue to be inspired to create their own art and writing; Luca and Andre, who are plotting their sequel; and Armie and I both for how it came to be, for that experience of total immersion like neither of us had ever had before on a film—” 

“I’ve never experienced a sense of safety like that. I’ve never experienced a sense of making myself so accessible and vulnerable…”His voice sounds small and far away, and as it trails off to nothing, his eyes grow abstract, like he’s retreating to that place, to his window seat in our bedroom, to that feeling of protection that I cannot give to him right now, exactly when he needs it most.

My mind skids. Suddenly I think of sitting with him on the shore of Lake Garda after our first day of shooting there, the quiet gurgle of its waters lapping at our toes.We had watched the birds, felt the breeze push at our faces, followed the dollop of sun in its line down to the opposite shore.Just us and the quiet.

“I love the water,” he had murmured.

“Yeah, it’s pretty great here.”

“I miss it.”

I’d felt my eyebrows pull in, and I had flopped my head his way, some stupid joke poised on the tip of my tongue.Until I saw his face.His jaw was loose, his features slackened like someone had wrenched his skin down and away from his bones.But his eyes?They _were_ the lake—clouded cerulean, filled with endless subtle waves that skirted the boundaries and threatened to spill over.

I had been afraid to move.I held my breath and willed him to smile.

“When we moved back to California, I missed it, missed the…the freedom of it.I was at home on the water.I’m _good_ on the water.They’d like me out there, I used to think.All the kids at school, those lousy fuckers, the shit they said to me every day, every _single_ day.And that’s all I wanted.Just let me get them out on the water, then they’d see.”

“See what?”My voice had whistled thin like the reeds behind us.

“That I mattered.”

Resignation had soaked every word, oozed right out of him and bled into the lake, like a wish into a well, the death of it the only part of the dream he was permitted to celebrate.

I had wanted to vomit. 

The words still echo in my head, and I feel a heavy slush in my stomach.

“Well, Tim, aren’t you even a little worried that your career is going to suffer now?Now that you’ve attached yourself to someone who has made himself virtually unemployable, no matter the smattering of residual offers he’s gotten?In the end, all of his failures will become _your_ failures.”

“No.”

“No?”

“ _No_.”I lean toward him and exaggerate the word with the movement of my mouth, the way I do for my grandmother when she’s cranked the television too loud.“No, because what I know is that this man works harder than anyone else I’ve ever seen, myself included.He has a greater love for this profession than anyone would ever imagine, and he isn’t ‘unemployable.’”My fingers flick in the air around my curled lip. _What in the hell is happening?I’ve never done air quotes before in my life._ “His _failures,_ as you put it, are what make him human because if he _hadn’t_ stumbled early on like _every fucking actor_ does, then the rest of us wouldn’t know what to do with ourselves, would we?We wouldn’t know how to cope with a man who looks like _that,_ like he’s been carved from Renaissance marble, _and_ thinks like a philosopher _and_ feels to a depth that few artists could comprehend.I mean, how could we look at _ourselves_ then?How could we smirk and feel superior _then,_ Kevin?”My arms throw themselves out to the side.“So what do we have?What do we use?Oh, that’s right—we throw his missteps in his face and hide ourselves in the dust cloud.”

Somewhere in my mind, I imagine Brian’s face blanched and frozen with horror, but right now, I don’t give a shit.

I angle forward, clutching the arms of the chair with pale claws.“But what you don’t want to talk about is where the _real_ failure lies.The failure of studios to look past his jawline and see his true potential, the failure of people like _you_ to produce fair and objective pieces and look at his work as it comes. _Fuck that_ , right?Who needs _actual_ journalism when you’ve got a dozen online outlets ready to spread your bullshit, right?So why should you bother to do your job when a shitty headline will get all the clicks you need?I mean, there’s no _reality_ when you can make it up as you go and stuff him into the empty box you’ve already got planned for him.”

The studio is dead quiet.I’m sweating.I feel it around my collar, behind my knees, between my toes.I feel the hot splotches burning my cheeks.A curl of my hair has turned into my eye, but I barely feel it poke my cornea with every motion of my head.“His _failure_ is putting up with assholes who beg him for an interview and then treat him like shit so they can impress their bosses with how they got _Armie-fucking-Hammer_ to go off.But _he’s_ not going to call you an asshole, Kevin,” and every time I say it, I can feel myself spit the man’s name like poison from my tongue.It burns, and I take a raspy breath.“Nope.He’s going to laugh at himself and agree with you; he’s going to try to answer respectfully, like he _always_ does when someone like you tries to rip his guts out.And why?Because he’s that fucking decent and honorable and humble, Kevin.So you should take a good long look at him, because you will never find a better person sitting this close to you doing you the courtesy of breathing your air.Savor this moment like it’s the last you’ll ever have.”

I leap to my feet and rip my mic off my shirt.The man is purple with shock.“Are you _threatening_ me?”He shakes his head and laughs harshly.“Who the hell do you think you are, kid?A couple of good performances and suddenly you’re the king?”

I feel my lips twist.“King?No.Only for Netflix.”I swoop down toward him.My voice doesn’t sound like my own.“But the best person I’ve ever known happens to love me, so I _feel_ like a fucking _god_.”

 

* * *

 

In the green room, it hits me.

I crumple, folding my face into my hands and hunching in the corner.

_Shit._

_Shit._

_Shitshitshitshitshit—_

_What have I done?_

I’ve ruined everything.Brian’s got to be pissed—he _has_ to know already.Hell, the whole fucking internet has to have the story already.What are the chances that a sound guy or some intern didn’t have a cell camera rolling that entire time?Zero.

My mother’s probably going to call any second and chirp at me about how disappointed she is.My dad will just shake his head in the background, knowing it’s far worse for me when he doesn’t say a word.

And Armie. _God_.I’ve embarrassed the hell out of both of us, ranting like a fucking amateur, giving that dickhead exactly what he wanted all along.Jesus Christ, I played right into it.

I hear the door creak open.

“Tim?”

I shove the heels of my hands harder into my eye sockets.“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m _so_ sorry. _Please_ don’t be mad at me.I really—I don’t know what happened, just—please, _please_ don’t be mad!”

“Mad?”

“I know!I _know_ I ruined everything!I fucked _everything_ up for both of us!”I stumble and fall onto a chair.I bend until my forehead hits my knees and fold my arms over my head.“I’m so stupid!How could I be such a fucking _idiot_??Can you forgive me?Please, Armie, _please_.Will you forgive me?I—I don’t—“

“Look at me.”

There’s a snap in his voice that makes me throw my arms to the floor, and after a second, I pick my head up just an inch, just enough to catch a glimpse of his posture, which is upright and strong.His fingers come up under my chin and tilt my face higher until I can see his face.

His perfect face.

I watch through fat tears as it slowly pulls itself up into a beaming smile.

My eyebrows press together.“Armie?”

He starts to chuckle.“You…animal.”His teeth poke out and his eyes disappear into crescents.“You are a maniac, Chalamet.You’re a _beast_!”His shoulders are shaking, his breaths swishing in and out on the crest of each fit of laughter.

“You…aren’t you mad at me?”

“Mad? _Mad_?”He grabs my face with both of his huge palms.“Tim, you just knocked that fucker out without raising a fist, and…” He kisses my cheek.“And, shit, you…you did it…”He kisses the other cheek.And my chin.“For me _._ _Just_ _for_ _me_.And..and you thought I’d be _angry_ at you?”

Then he kisses my mouth, paints it like a canvas with patterns of his tongue, filling my veins with bubbles of champagne lighter than air.Everything else fades away until I just hover there, a mist that wants to settle on his skin and soak into his pores. _This is it_ , I realize.All I’ll ever need is right here.

I run my hand across the top of his head and down his cheek.I grab the front of his shirt in my fist and look into his eyes.“I couldn’t…no one’s _ever_ going to…I…I just…”

I wince.Nothing’s coming out right.

But he smiles softly.He gets it.He _knows_.

His hand grips the back of my neck.“I love you, too.”

**Author's Note:**

> I’ve searched and read and combined a plethora of interview bites for this piece. I should’ve kept assiduous records of all of them, but alas, I did not. Regardless, given the astute nature of the readers of this site, I’m guessing that most of you already possess an encyclopedic knowledge of the commentary of these two beauties.
> 
> I originally conceived of this installment from Armie’s point of view, but when I considered the prospect of Tim in the role of the protector, I knew I had to let him experience it. I’ve never seen him be anything but sweet and charming in real life, so I wanted to envision what it would be like to see him absolutely furious and to project what would have to happen in his mind to allow his rage to surface.
> 
> As always, your thoughts give me life, so please let me know what you think!


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